


Sugar and Spice

by nightstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean in Panties, M/M, Season 9, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 09:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightstiel/pseuds/nightstiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m wearing the panties you picked for me, Cas.” PWP, set vaguely in season 9.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar and Spice

“I’m wearing the panties you picked for me, Cas.” Dean’s voice is a wet, obscene whisper in Castiel’s ear and he risks a glance towards Dean’s crotch in the middle of a rougarou hunt. Sure enough, white lace is barely visible above the crude waistband of Dean’s worn-down denim, soft and round on his ass. Cas swallows and curls his fingers tighter around the barrel of the shotgun he’s holding.

Dean preens next to him before stepping away, smacking the former angel lightly on his butt. He must admit that was one of his worst ideas. It’s one thing to see Castiel’s pants tighten around his crotch; but the sensation of smooth silk underneath his jeans makes his eyes roll back his skull in pleasure.

It’s always a ritual for him – sit on the edge of the bed in the cold light of the morning and pull the panties on, slowly, inch by inch until they sit tight, elastic digging into his soft underside, stretching against his asscheeks and barely holding his cock and balls in, perfectly accentuating the curve of him, tucked in meticulously. He likes to look in a mirror, then; getting half-hard from the sole sight of pink underwear straining around his dick and soon he’s fully erect, leaking and staining the front and trying his hardest not to jerk off like that.

(Not that he hasn’t done that, when no one was looking and he had the time. But they usually are about to go on a hunt so his self-indulgence has to wait.)

And then, Dean puts on his pants and it’s even better, everything falling back into place, the contrast between rough denim and the silken texture of panties making his head spin; a dirty secret that makes him more confident than ever.

It might be a little distracting on a hunt for him and for Cas if he’s privy to the knowledge, but monsters can suck his dick as far as he’s concerned.

They don’t have the time to clean up the mess the rougarou has made afterwards, they get in the Impala and drive off with tires screeching.

Back at the motel, Dean and Cas waste no time locking the door, throwing the bags in a corner and beginning to discard clothes quickly. Dean pins Cas to the nearest wall as he tried to get him out of his jeans, which isn’t an easy task as Cas keeps grinding his hips against Dean’s hardening cock. He moans deep into the kiss; blood rushing south all at once, Cas already-rock hard and just two layers of denim and Dean’s panties between them. They rut against each other, wanton; the friction is slow and hot against their erections, Castiel’s hands undoing the buttons of Dean’s shirt while he struggles with getting Cas’s t-shirt off. He gives up in favour of grazing his teeth against Castiel’s jawline and cupping his ass with one hand, palm flat and dragging slow circles into the firm muscle.

“Get the hell out of those pants, Dean,” Cas growls, fingers twining into Dean’s hair and _pulling. “Please.”_ Dean whines and pressed against him harder. He can feel his dick thick and throbbing against Castiel’s own bulge, almost aching now; the front of his panties is completely soaked by now. He complies, with little help from Castiel who runs a gentle hand down and up Dean’s ass as soon as his pants have dropped to his knees, then proceeds to get Cas out of his jeans as well.

Dean grinds against Cas, hands steadying his hips with a strong grip. It’s even better now, the musky scent of Castiel’s neck and gunpowder and blood, the sultry pull of Castiel’s leaking cock against Dean’s, clad in this soft, wet satin.  

“Oh fuck, baby, this feels so good,” he growls into Castiel’s ear as he tugs his boxers down as well. The former angel drops his head back, trying to get Dean’s shirt off his shoulders and to the floor. It’s not perfect but Dean thinks if they waste any more time trying to get naked, he’s not going to last, friction wearing him out too much and making him already dizzy with arousal; thinking about coming in his panties like that, flushed cockhead barely visible above the pink-and-white waistline makes his knees buckle, but he has other plans to accomplish. “Fuck, Cas,” he pants against his cheek when Cas thrusts his hips forward with ferocity, pressing against Dean’s ass, fingers dancing around the rim of his hole underneath his panties to push their cocks together. “Like this, here, baby, lemme, okay?” His voice is a low whine now, wanton and needy as unintelligible moans spill from Castiel’s mouth. He wants this, wants to lift Cas up and slam into him, thrust by thrust; a parallel to what Cas did when he brought him three pairs of panties as a gift and didn’t even think about anything else than them being for Dean’s own benefit until Dean climbed on all fours on their bed and begged to be fucked. Cas pushed the panties aside – which earned him a string of obscenities from Dean’s mouth and a clench of tight ass around his cock – and did just that).

“Will you fuck me in the nearest century, Dean?” Cas growls into his ear, tugging his boxers down, one leg hooked up against Dean’s waist. He brings Dean’s fingers to his mouth from his hips and sucks at them, coating them in a generous layer of saliva, then pushes them towards his ass. “Come on,  _boy.”_

Dean groaned against Castiel’s neck and bucked his hips forward, fingers trailing the rim of his hole, dragging, teasing. He slips one inside--  another follows quickly when Castiel kicks him with the sole of his foot, letting out a satisfied whine when Dean complies, obedient. He plunges them deep into the heat, stretching the smooth ring of muscle, each flex earning him a low moan from Cas. They are face to face now, Castiel’s hand cradling Dean’s cheeks, sharing air. “Dean.” His voice a soft, urging cry at the back of his throat.

“I got you, Cas.” Dean murmurs as he adds another finger and Cas cants his hips, sinks down on his hand. “I got you.”

Ever since Cas fell, he seemed to make up for centuries of angelic perception with unbridled ferocity of feeling. The first time they did this, after Cas has been lost and found and lost and found again, he barely made it past Dean’s entrance, hot pressure on the head of his cock enough to send him over the edge and spilling, surprised at the pleasure wringing his body. Dean loves this, how it still overwhelms Cas and him by proxy, too; and he’s still the grumpy bastard while at it.

 He removes his fingers with reluctance and heaves Cas up, the other leg wrapping tight around his waist, his palms cupping Castiel’s asscheeks as he supports their weight, thumbs pressing just underneath the angel’s hipbones. With Cas’s help, he guides himself inside, fingers reaching down to stretch Castiel’s hole to accommodate his cock, dragging against the pink, puffed up skin to spread the precome to make it easier. Cas hold his gaze, then; and even if his grace has been permanently extinguished, something like heavenly wrath, impatience and greed is still simmering in those half-lidded eyes, hooded  to almost navy with need. Dean sinks in, tight heat clenching around his cock immediately and they both groan, Dean’s hand rubbing circles on Castiel’s hip to soothe him through the initial burn and stretch. Cas twines his fingers in Dean’s hair (he would never admit it but he’s grown it longer just for that, for something for Cas to hold on to while he blows him or fucks him or is fucked), brings their foreheads together.

“I won’t break, Dean,” he says, voice small and hoarse, rocks back against him. It’s almost too much , bottoming out and buried balls-deep in that sweet, tight little ass. “Harder.” He plows in, deep, working up to a rhythm, a pace Cas controls with quiet, hoarse commandments ripped from his throat between his moans. “Yes, Dean, there, right there.”

The lacy waistband of his panties presses against the base of his cock, reminding of their presence. It’s delirious, almost, the wet slap of Dean’s straining cock against Castiel’s butt, the tight heat consuming him, almost; Castiel’s legs around him, moving with each thrust. There’s heat pooling in the low of his stomach and judging by the sounds of it, Castiel’s too; Dean angles his hips and drives in and Cas is coming, always suddenly, eyes wide and unfocused, clinging to Dean like a drowning man. He clenches around Dean and it’s enough for him too, a muffled scream escaping his lips and he crushes them against Castiel’s mouth, riding them both out.

This is when Dean’s knees give out and buckle underneath him; he sags against Castiel’s frame, quivering as much as himself, forehead resting on Castiel’s hip, hand stroking down his thigh. He knows Cas is watching him, fingers brushing through his hair, now damp with sweat.

“I gave it to you good, right, Cas?”

“Very good.”

Dean laughs quietly, breathing in the scent of sweat and spunk and being at home. They _fit_ like no one ever has before and it’s almost heartbreaking. He says it against Castiel’s hip, then. It’s always moments like this that would leave Castiel wondering if Dean uttered any words at all if not for the movement of lips on skin.

“Will you clean it up?” Cas asks, voice mellow, sated. He lets Dean turn him around and lick up the come dripping down his thighs, eating it up greedily, all the way up to the cleft of Castiel’s ass. He pushes the cheeks apart and cleans it up, too; wants to kiss Cas with this salty-sweet taste of him on his mouth.

“Baby, you’re so raw,” and he is, because this is what you get when nightstand and lube is too far away. He drags his tongue against the reddened muscle, pushing in, licking it better and Cas nearly turns to dust under his ministrations.

And Cas can’t handle it either, slumping to the floor, between Dean’s legs, back to the wall. His fingers interlace on the nape of Dean’s neck. Close. At home.

 

 

 

 


End file.
